


Crowley Hears Whispers

by KaraFeign



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4916218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaraFeign/pseuds/KaraFeign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Motives. King of Hell. He knows what he's doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crowley Hears Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like you wouldn't be able to die and come back to life without serious repercussions, psychical tolls. I think Crowley can see the scars left behind.

He sits on his throne, bones heavy, so sunken into this old body. This forever still, unchanging, constant flesh. 

The King of Hell thinks, and sits, in his flesh so same. 

The Winchesters call, Dean calls, and Crowley runs to his side. He wants a friend, he wants love, he wants to speak to someone who isn’t kneeling before his throne, kneeling before forever-flesh.

The whispers always reach him. The Winchester bitch, a king on a leash, the Winchester champion of Hell.

He doesn’t care. He will always go. He will stand by the side of two men… who would kill him if so fortunate. Yearning always for the company of fleshlings, aging, warm bodies. Bodies that have died, like him, but have returned to their flesh (flesh that grows old).

No one knows what he can see behind the Winchesters. How can you come back, fleshings? How can you come back and not carry the shadow behind you? Only Crowley can see, Only Crowley can touch the dead thing behind you.

Each is different, Dean carries a shadow, not surprisingly, the height of Sam. A scarred, raw thing, full of black and grey, twisting and breaking and reaching for Dean, running its fingers down his neck, pressing black shapes of fingers against Dean’s eyes. It bites at his flesh.

Crowley watches as the shape curls into Dean.

Sam carries a smaller shape, an impossibly darker shape. The black of it confusing even to a King. The shape is darker, because Sam twists it up without knowing. The shape is desperate, more desperate, it presses against him, aches against him. 

It sighs, a shape of a noise like the sound of rushing water made into the softest, nearly inaudible sound. 

It twists, and twists, and hugs around him so much so that Crowley can see Sam’s shirt move lightly under the weight of it. It slides its fingers into Sam’s mouth to feel the shapes of him speaking. It runs another hand-shape grip around his chest. So desperately, and Sam can’t feel a thing. 

Crowley reaches out, unseen, and strokes the larger shapes cheek. He can hear the shape of the scream, the shape of a sound that looks like it sounds like a scream. And he smiles to himself.

Oh how the King of Hell burns. 

When he touches the smaller shape, he runs a finger down its back, and the shape turns darker. Impossibly, unfathomably darker. 

One day the shapes will ache so much they may actually bring the shapes and the flesh bodies together. 

The King of Hell will wait, for this, he wants love. He wants companionship. And when all the shapes crash together-

The men will be promised to hell-

And its King-

Forever. 

_(And when they, inevitably, make Flesh again, Crowley will follow his promised into flesh, forever.)_


End file.
